The Existence of Love
by Welcome2MyWorldxoxo
Summary: Written for the fandom4texas. A man who denies the existence of love, yet feels it. Can he learn to accept it, or is he doomed to push the one woman he cares for away? ExB. Mature


**AN: Thanks to Pixie Cat for beta'ing this for me. Written for the Fandom4Texasfires.**

****Penname**: Welcome2myworldxoxo**  
><strong>Summary: A man who denies the existence of love, yet feels it. Can he learn to accept it, or is he doomed to push the one woman he cares for away?<br>**Pairing:ExB  
><strong>Genre: Romance<br>**Story title: The Existence of Love  
><strong>Rating:NC17<br>**Warnings: Lemons, an itty bitty amount of violence.************

**The Existence of Love.**

Isabella sat at her vanity, one leg neatly folded over as she leaned forward, a tube of lipstick held daintily between her fingers. Her eyes found their reflection in mirror before she dropped them down to her full, pouted lips.

She eyed them carefully as she gently brushed the lipstick over them, turning the once light pink into a deep red. Once she had finished applying it, she pursed her lips slightly, turning her head from side to side slightly to make sure that her complexion was flawless.

She was not a stupid girl - years on the streets had seen to that - and complacency in her position was all it would take for her new life to ripped from her fingers.

She may have looked like a lady, the silks, satins and lace had helped with that, but under it all was the girl who had made a living dancing in the streets.

Isabella sighed, shaking the dull thoughts from her mind as she reached back to pull the pins from her hair, letting it cascade down her back in thick, dark waves.

There was a knock on the door and she spun round on her stool, quickly bringing the edges of her silk robe together, hiding the flimsy slip that she wore beneath it.

"Come in," she said pleasantly, and Eleazer, the aged butler, hobbled in slowly.

"Mr. Masen wishes for your presence in his study," he said, his voice hoarse from the many years of smoking, but alas it was one of the small joys that he refused to give up. Mr. Masen was generous in this sense. Though he would never say it out loud - as it was not his place to do so - Eleazer had always had a soft spot for his employer's paramour.

He had found it such a pity that a girl so young had believed this life to be the best that she could have. He knew Mr. Masen was not renowned for his gentleness, but for his rapid mood changes that more often than not were of a dark variety.

He'd seen firsthand what happened to those who dared test him on days when he was best left undisturbed, but this girl barely past the cusp of womanhood had softened him in a way that had left many mouths agape in shock and awe.

Isabella had a gentle heart and soul and somehow she had managed to tame the beast that lurked inside Mr. Masen, at least to the point that he was amiable to be around. There was only so much the girl could do, but Mr. Masen was less intimidating to the staff once they had seen the two of them together.

Eleazer may have been old, but he knew beauty when he saw it, and Isabella held enough to bring with her into the next life. He watched as her painted lips spread up into a smile and her eyes sparkled with happiness.

"Well, this is a nice surprise, is not Eleazer? I shall go to him at once. We all know how he gets when he is kept waiting," she said, her husky voice low and playful as she swept to her feet, the grace of a swan in every movement.

To say that Isabella was surprised at Edward calling for her was a vast understatement. Why, it had only been last night that he had shared her bed, taking her to the heights of heaven until she had collapsed exhausted and completely boneless against the desecrated sheets in the wee hours of the morn.

Usually, the day after such a passionate encounter, he would draw back from her, preferring his own company for the day so that he could bask and brood in peace. She knew better than to disturb him on these days, incurring his wrath was not something one enjoyed, no matter how brave they seemed. On these days she would find her own amusement, riding around the grounds or curling up in the library with a book.

Isabella could feel her skin flush as she fluffed her hair up nervously, barely refraining from asking Eleazer if she looked alright. She quickly managed to push the nerves that had bubbled up down and stood a little taller.

She walked steadily out into the hall, but shivered at the ever present draft that always seemed so cool even during the hot summer days. She held her head high, her shoulders set back as she almost glided through the halls until she came to Edward's study.

There was no denying the way her heart sped up as she raised her hand and steadied her nerves to face the unknown that lay behind the door. When her knuckles met the hard wood, it was with cool precision, no nervousness could be detected in it.

A cold, short snap of acknowledgement came through the door, and she opened it and stepped in.

Edward Masen had always been known for his somewhat volatile personality. It was even said that his mood changed faster than a bullet could move through the air, but that was a silly exaggeration that gossipy women made to make their own, dull lives seem more interesting.

His moods were not something he could deny because in all honesty, his temper was about as fiery as his hair, which was had been compared to molten lava . He paced the length of his office, his thoughts moving a mile a minute as he did so.

He wasn't sure as to why he had called Isabella to his study, especially after the night they had shared, but Lucifer be damned, he couldn't get her out of his mind. She had been slowly worming her way into not just his head, but his heart also. Try as he might to deny it, Isabella was the first thing he thought of in the morning and the last thing at night.

She consumed him in a way no other woman had managed. He had lived a pretty frigid life before her, having walled away his heart years ago after the death of his wife. Not that he had cared for his wife at that point, no, after her betrayal of sleeping with the gardener and getting pregnant with his child, Edward had been stricken, and rightfully so.

It was only after burying her and the child in her womb, that Edward realized just how little he had felt for his wife. One might even say that he was relieved to not have the weight of a loveless marriage burdening him any longer.

Edward was by no means a promiscuous man and had kept his vows all through his marriage, but as soon as the dirt had settled on his wife's grave he had made a new vow, a vow to never fall for the trickery and scheming ways of any woman.

Love was a myth, Edward decided, that let people believe that there was more to marriage than just duty. It was all poppycock as far as he was concerned and he would never fall for that lie again, of that he was certain.

But Isabella had changed all that. He could still remember vividly the way her skirts had moved as she moved and twisted her lithe body to the music. She held a wild, uninhibited innocence that Edward had thought had long ago died along with the dinosaurs.

One look at her young, beautiful face had Edward convinced that by the end of the year, she would be living comfortably by his side.

There had been other women after his wife's death, he was not embarrassed to admit that, but none compared to Isabella. He had been a little hesitant with her at first, knowing that she was barely nineteen, which compared to his thirty-three years seemed practically adolescent.

But even that first night he had lain with her had held more passion, more fire, than the bonfires that he had seen every Guy Fawkes Night back in England.

Having her small, pale curvaceous body writhing underneath him as he gave her more pleasure than she could even begin to comprehend gave him a sense of satisfaction that material gain could not.

Isabella watched her lover pace the length of his study, one hand firmly embedded in his hair as he muttered under his breath. It was not often that Edward allowed her to see him in any condition less than perfect and she wondered, not for the first time, why he had called her to him.

"Edward," she called out tentatively, causing him to spin round, annoyance written in every pore of his face. His face slowly morphed into one of a softer countenance as he caught sight of who had interrupted him.

"Isabella," he murmured, slowly lowering his hands as his eyes raked over her scantily clad body. She shivered under his gaze, and this time it had nothing to do with the draft in the hall and more to do with the man in front of her.

She felt naked under his gaze, but held herself confidently. A man like Edward could sniff out weakness from a mile away and he detested it. He moved backward, his strong legs taking him to his desk, which he leaned back against.

"Come," he ordered, all trace of emotion gone from his face. Her heart sped up as she moved toward him, her hips swaying with each step. She didn't stop until she stood directly in front of him.

"You called for me," she prompted after another moment of silence, unnerved by the strength of his gaze as he stared into her eyes.

He acted as if she had not spoken a word, lifted a hand to her neck, and wrapped it gently around her neck. He cocked his head to the side, pondering just how fragile she looked underneath his touch.

"Tell me Isabella," he finally said, his eyes never leaving his hand. "Are you a witch?"

Isabella blinked at him, confused and slightly frightened by his question. She had never seen her lover like this. He seemed so calm, yet she felt a storm brewing beneath it.

"No," she whispered.

Edward wished that he could have said that she was lying to him, but her gaze never faltered from his. He could see the fear in her eyes, and he felt it justified. She should be frightened, he thought to himself coldly.

"A sorceress perhaps," he offered up as a second opinion.

"No," she answered again, and Edward couldn't help but feel frustrated. There had to be some spell or potion that she had slipped him otherwise these feelings that were coursing through every fiber of his being would not be there.

"Then pray tell, Isabella, what have you done to me?" His grip tightened around her neck and she winced.

"Edward, you're hurting me," she whimpered, unable to hide the slight tremor in her voice.

He cocked his head to the side, his eyes hard. "Am I? Well, isn't that just vile of me. Answer the question and I will let you go. What have you done to me?"

Isabella blinked back tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She did not know what had changed in the last few hours since he had left her room, but it obviously had not been good.

"I do not know what you are talking about," she rasped, struggling to breathe around his grip.

"Really? Well, Isabella, please explain to me why I feel like I am going crazy. Explain to me why you plague my every thought, why I cannot concentrate on anything but you. Why I am not fully happy unless you are around me. Why every time I hear you or sense you my heart skips? Explain that to me!"

By the end of his tirade, he was practically screaming at her, and yet Isabella still did not give into the temptation to let her tears spill.

The realization of what he felt hit her hard since she too had been feeling the exact symptoms that he had just described. It felt like an illness, one by the name of love.

She knew that Edward did not believe in love and would want a logical reason for his feelings, something that she could not give him, but she would rather go to hell than to let him bully her like this.

"Let go of me right this instant," she demanded and he immediately released his grip. She fell to the ground, her legs giving out as she massaging the bruised skin on her neck. She was fed up of him taking his moods out on her. She put up with them, yes, and sometimes even managed to diffuse them, but she had always promised herself to never let a man lay a hand on her.

"Who do you think you are, Edward Masen, to think that you can treat people as if they were cattle?" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him as she raised herself back up to her full height. "I have done nothing to you. You simply refuse to admit that what you feel is love!"

As soon as the word rolled off her tongue she immediately regretted it. Pure rage rained down over his features and his hand rose as if to slap her.

"If you raise your hand to me, you will never see me again," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling from a mixture of hurt and anger. She waited for the sting of his hand hitting her cheek, but none came.

He curled his hand into a fist and turned away from her, moving across the room from her. He lifted a tumbler and attempted to pour him some whiskey. He needed something to distract him, to blackout the horrifying thoughts running through his mind.

His hands shook terribly, but he could not seem to curb it. Since patience was one thing that he was very short on, he picked up the empty glass and threw it at the far wall, feeling satisfaction ring through him as it splintered into a thousand pieces.

His chest heaved and he clenched his jaw tightly. He could not believe that he had raised his hand as if to hit her. He had been angry with women before, angry enough to think of raising his hand to them, but his mother, may she rest in peace, would expect better from him than this kind of behavior.

Not wanting to succumb to the guilt that was already gnawing away at him, he didn't dare to look at her. He was a man dammit, a man who had never begged for forgiveness and he wasn't about to start now.

Or at least that was he told himself, but one glimpse at her hurt, angry face practically brought him to his knees. Pain radiated through his body and he barely managed to hold back a groan at the intensity of it.

His anger drained from his body as if a plug had been pulled out, and now he only felt remorse.

He barely made it to the sofa strategically placed along the wall before letting his head fall into his hands in defeat. Edward was not a soft man; he had never really had a reason to be. Having been brought up by a strict nanny after his mother had died in childbirth, he had barely spent any time with his absentee father until he was of age.

Love was not something that he had ever experienced and he felt a sob choke up his throat, knowing that if such a thing _did_ exist, then he had never done a thing to deserve it.

He barely registered a weight beside him until he felt fingers stroke through his hair.

"Edward," Isabella murmured. Edward could not quite believe that she was still here. Why had she not run from him, as if he was a crazed killer? He had hurt her, wrapped his hand around her throat as if to cut off her breathing. How could she forgive a thing like that?

"Leave me," he ordered roughly, not wishing for her to see him such a state. He rarely let himself unravel, as he was now, a tear threatening to leak from his eyes, and to have an audience for such a thing made him cringe.

Isabella was unsure as to what to do. One part of her, a strong part, wished for her to leave and go nurse her wounds in the confines of her room. That part of her didn't even want to be near him at this moment.

But the other part, a part which was somehow much stronger than the first part, begged for her to stay, to comfort him, and bring him to a place so much more bright than the hole he seemed to have fallen into.

"Edward." She tried again to gain his attention, and he lifted his face to look at her. Her heart squeezed in her chest and for a minute she couldn't breathe. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to fall down his face.

"Is this what you want?" he asked hoarsely. "Do you want to see me at my very worst?"

"I think I've already seen that," she reminded him as remorse clouded his face.

"If it is an apology that you are looking for, hear my sincere regret when I tell you that I am ashamed at myself for raising my hand to you and holding you roughly by the neck."

She knew that he expected her to leave because that was all he knew. He expected everyone to leave him so he never tried to keep them longer than he needed them. Isabella was not dumb enough to think that she could fully change a man like Edward, but thought if maybe he would let her love him, he would see that not all love hurt.

Edward could not understand as to why she had stayed, especially after all that he had done. Self-loathing filled him and he turned his face away from her. She should not see him like this, he thought to himself. He didn't need pity; all it gave him was more self-loathing.

He dropped his head down so that his chin rested against his chest and threaded his hands together to stop from fidgeting.

Warm, soft hands cupped his cheeks, startling him, as they guided his face toward hers. Her gaze was soft, no repulsion apparent in her features as she brought his lips to meet hers.

"Let me love you," she breathed against his lips and he felt myself quiver at her touch. Fear had always blinded him like a curtain, stopping him from trying, from hurting, but could he really live with that forever?

This woman, nineteen in age, had seen him at his most vulnerable, most pathetic and yet, here she sat, her lips molded against his as she begged for him to allow her to love him.

He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was unsure if there was anything left to love. Too many years of hurt, of abandonment, by people he should have called his family had left him jaded and uncomfortable at the notion of putting himself back out there.

"I don't know how to," he finally whispered, trepidation creeping up his spine. How could she be with a man who could not function like a normal human being? He tried to turn his face in disgust, but her hands would not allow him to.

"Just feel," she encouraged him, pressing her lips back to his before he could answer. He slowly, cautiously, slid a hand to grasp at her waist, pulling her closer to him as the pressure of their lips intensified. He tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss as he trailed his tongue over her lips.

When she let out a breathy moan as her lips parted, he didn't hesitate to explore her mouth. Their tongues tangled and twisted together as he allowed his free hand to move to her shoulder, tugging at the edge of her robe.

Ever since she had entered the room, he had wondered what she had underneath it, and he tugged it over her shoulder eager to see. His mouth separated from hers, hunting down to follow his hand, nuzzling down her neck and over her shoulder, kissing and licking it as he went.

She moaned, angled her head to give him more room as she let her hands slide down to his shirt, unbuttoning it and yanking it down his arms.

He groaned as he saw the simple, pink slip she wore underneath, and then gently pushed her to lie back along the length of the sofa. Her hair fanned around her head like an angel's halo, and he almost had to pinch himself to believe she was real.

She tugged on the end of his undershirt impatiently and he hurried to pull it up the length of his chest and then tossed it to the floor. Her warm little hands traveled along his chest, mapping out each dip as if it were the first time they had touched intimately.

"Forgive me," he murmured, tracing the light bruises he had caused upon her neck. Her hand covered his and she looked up at with true sincerity.

"Make love to me, Edward."

Isabella was uncertain where such a bold statement had arisen from, all she knew was that she wanted a new, beautiful memory to erase the one of his hand wrapped around her throat.

She could feel the hesitancy roll off him in waves, as he was, for once, at a loss as to what to do. Edward Masen did not-or more specifically-had not ever made love to a woman in his life, and quite frankly, he wasn't sure where to start.

What separated making love with just the everyday kind of sex?

Before he gave himself a headache thinking about all the intricacies of these things, Isabella pulled him back down upon her, so that the palms of his hands lay on either side of her head as she leaned up to kiss him chastely.

"Do not think. Just do," she told him simply, kissing him again, her hands sliding into the thick strands of hair that covered his head. He cautiously returned the kiss while his hand moved over her scantily clad body, pulling up her slip until it was prudent (necessary) that their lips part to remove the garment.

Before the garment had even hit the floor, Isabella had reclaimed his lips, pursuing his mouth with her warm, silken tongue.

Her naked body writhed under his as he trailed feather light touches over her sides and stomach.

"Must you tease me so?" she complained impatiently as he skipped over the more important places, which ached for his touch.

"Shhh," he whispered against her lips, his lips curling up into a smile as she huffed. "Just feel." He mirrored the words she had spoken to him earlier, teasing her in a way that Edward Masen did not generally tease.

In fact, he was very careful not let more than a few small pieces of himself available to be seen by anyone so if there was disappointment then the person would leave with only a partial fraction of what they could have had.

He couldn't deny that it had saved him from many hurts, but he now realized that he had also shortchanged many people this way, making them feel as if they were not important enough to know him.

It saddened him slightly, the way he had pushed everyone away out of fear. How long had he said that he detested weakness when here he was, the very epitome of the word?

"Hey, come back to me," Isabella urged, wondering where his mind had drifted off to. His eyes flickered to hers for a long moment before crashing his lips to hers, in a new kind of hunger that had not been experienced between the two of them.

He spread her legs wide as he kneeled between them, his hands daring to palm the soft, round globes of her breasts.

Her fingers scrambled to his belt, yanking it back through the buckle before frantically undoing the buttons of his pants. He wasn't embarrassed to admit that he moaned rather loudly as she pressed against his thickening member in her haste to undress him.

She relished the sounds of his pleasure and practically ripped his pants down his strong thighs, taking the shorts he wore underneath with them. His hard length sprung free from the confines of his shorts, slapping against his stomach as the red, swollen tip leaked.

Just the feel of her small fingers wrapping tightly around him had him close to climaxing, but he refused to let go like this. No, a man like him had dignity and as such always made sure his woman got hers first.

He kicked off his shorts and pants, discarding them along with his shoes and socks onto the floor, leaving him completely nude above her. She mewled wantonly as his lips wrapped around the swollen tip of her nipple, suckling gently on it. Her chest arched further into him as her dainty little fingers resumed their exploration of the length of his rigid shaft.

He trembled in her grip, his mouth going slack around her nipple as she twisted her hand at the head just like he had taught her. He thrust into her hand, enjoying her ministrations while he let one of his hands move down to the apex of her thighs.

His fingers stroked her slick, swollen folds, parting them and dipping into the hot cavern that lay beneath them.

He could feel his engorged cock throb uncontrollably as her hips moved in time with his fingers, bucking and thrusting wildly. Wetness flooded from her as she threw her head back against the cushions, her head thrashing from side to side as her skin flushed hotly.

There was no controlling the way she reacted to his touch, but then she had never attempted to. Why sensor herself for the man who had not only taken her virginity, but had showed her the many different pleasures they could find together?

It didn't take long for her to shatter around his finger, tingles and spasms running through her body as she settled back down on the sofa. She barely had time to regain her composure before he hooked her legs around his hips and surged forward, encasing himself fully inside her.

His jaw strained as he tried to calm down his traitorous body that longed to release right there and then. He pulled his hips back before thrusting back deeply inside her, her walls clutching and hugging him tightly, it wasn't long before he found a rhythm that suited the both of them just fine.

She loved the sound of their skin slapping together as he guided them toward ecstasy, his hips angled to give deep, measured thrusts. He leaned his forehead down against hers, breathing heavily as he moved within her, burying himself to the hilt with each thrust.

"I want to try," he whispered against her forehead, his voice almost desperate to her ears.

She couldn't stop the smile that curled up on her lips at his words. This was all that she had longed for, for him to try. She knew as well as anyone else that it would not be easy, but she was adamant that if she stayed by his side every step of the way he would succeed, he just had to let himself.

"That is all I can ask of you," she answered quietly, wrapping her arms around his back and holding him close enough that her nipples scraped against his chest with each stroke.

Their lips met, silently sealing his declaration with the kiss.

Loud pants and moans echoed around the room as they lost themselves in the pleasure flooding through their bodies, and Eleazer, who just happened to be walking by the study on his way to prepare Mr. Masen's mid morning tea couldn't help but let a smile of his own turn up his lips.

Mr. Masen had been alone for far too long, albeit on his own terms, but Eleazer could sense that there was a definite change in the air. Eleazer was a man that had never doubted the existence of love-his wife, Carmen, could attest to that-and he had known as soon as Isabella had stepped out of Mr. Masen's automobile almost five months ago that he would fall in love with her.

Eleazer could admit that he thought that Mr. Masen would cave in a lot earlier, but if there was anything true about Mr. Masen, it was that he was as stubborn as a mule.

How Eleazer knew that Mr. Masen had surrendered was simply the fact that Mr. Masen never broke his schedule for anyone. So, to see him so ruffled this morning, practically demanding that Isabella be sent to him was surprising to say the least.

Add to that, the sounds being emitted from his study were obviously ones lovers made in the throes of pleasure, but at mid morning, it was usually time for Mr. Masen's tea. Something that he had never missed in all the years Eleazer had been working for him.

Yes, Eleazer decided, he had finally succumbed to her and he did not sound to broken up about it to say the least.

Eleazer shuffled away from the study, letting the moans and sighs of pleasure slowly fade away with the firm knowledge that whoever could doubt the existence of something as wonderful as love must be certifiably out of their mind.

**THE END.**

**AN: And there we have it. Thanks for reading!**


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